


Tear

by WinterDusk



Series: Have Tesseract, Will Travel [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 04:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDusk/pseuds/WinterDusk
Summary: Loki reaches out to the tesseract, hidden between the folds of reality, and wonders whether he should just run away.





	Tear

**Author's Note:**

> While this can be read as a stand-alone, it picks up from ‘The Shining Sun’ and is a companion piece to ‘And the Norns Roll the Dice’.

_What has he gotten himself into_ this _time?_

Lying in the warm darkness, Loki reaches out to the tesseract, hidden between the folds of reality, and wonders whether he should just run. As though sensing Loki’s deception, Thor, currently flat out on his back and slumbering peacefully, twitches. His fingers are tangled in the hair at the nape of Loki’s neck, so this isn’t entirely comfortable, but no worse than listening to his brother’s snoring.

Really, if sleeping thus is going to become a regular occurrence, they’re going to have to do something about that racket. Maybe Loki can find a way to persuade Thor to sleep on his side?

For himself; rest is a thousand miles away. Loki is almost jittery with adrenalin. Everything here is strange.

Strange, but warm and safe, if not exactly comfortable. Even neglecting the snoring, Loki would struggle to sleep with Thor’s newfound girth taking up so much of the narrow bunk. Currently Loki’s resting with his back against the wall and his head pillowed on Thor’s shoulder. While it’s not the worst place he’s ever spent a night – a long way from that – it’s not ideal.

Loosening his metaphysical grip on the tesseract, Loki instead lets his fingertips ghost over his adopted-brother’s face. Features near-impossible to see in the dark are stark to his touch. A deep, vicious scar crosses one socket, and it’s not escaped Loki’s earlier attention that the eye itself is a replacement. _Whatever happened there?_

But there are more questions than one to this Thor whom Loki’s found. Mjolnir, for starters, is nowhere to be seen. Rather, Thor clings to an immense battleaxe like a babe with a favoured doll. An artifact of Loki’s multiverse skipping, or symptomatic of events missed between their respective timelines’ divergence between 2012 and now, 2023?

And the hair! Thor’s never been a dandy, but Loki’s used to witnessing a certain pride-in-appearance. Thor’s long hair might frequently have been tousled, occasionally flat-out wild, but at the moment…? Loki’s fingers catch in the snarls and he stills his movements lest he wake Thor.

Better to call it a rat’s nest, chop it off, and start again. Not to mention the smell; Loki’s sure it’s been more than mere days since it was last washed.

On a scale of one to Ebony-Maw’s-Prison, it’s not so bad. But that’s not a scale Loki appreciates having to employ.

The beard’s nice though. Thick. Soft. Loki pets his fingers through the wiry hair, dryly amused when Thor turns, cat-like in his sleep, to nuzzle his jaw against Loki’s forehead. Fool.

The beard naturally leads down to… everything else. There’s only a thin blanket on the bunk. A meanness hardly surprising considering that this ship’s captain is Nebula’s lackey. Though what her plan is, Loki has yet to discern. Thanos might be gone, but to have his two favored daughters on one vessel…?

As for what might Nebula do to him when-

Thor won’t let that happen.

It’s a bone-deep certainty. Loki doesn’t know what’s happened in this reality; there’s a gap in history that he’s managed to skip over; arriving to find only a traumatized Thor and an unraveling sensation around an emptiness of Asgard’s Seidr. Loki doesn’t want to poke too much at that. For whatever may have come to pass, it’s evident that Thor’s got over whatever vexation he’d felt towards Loki in New York.

Thus, Thor’s here; he views Loki as his brother; therefore Loki is safe.

He should stay.

Loki lets his hand come to a rest on Thor’s belly. Permits himself to enjoy the warmth and softness. The easy complacency with which this man holds a killer like Loki to his most vulnerable of sides.

Closing his eyes, Loki resolves to put the tesseract from his mind. He tries to fall asleep, snoring be damned.

#

It’s a resolve that lasts about five minutes into wakefulness. For Loki wakens to the sounds of Thor retching into a container placed – apparently with foresight – by the bunk. Loki wrinkles his nose and sits up. As he does so, he carefully pulls the blanket away from Thor and over towards himself where it will, hopefully, be safe.

After one last heave, Thor drags a hand across his averted face. “Sorry.” Loki grimaces, but holds his silence. For a moment they remain as they are: Loki frantically trying to decide whether he’s meant to do anything and Thor thinking Norns-know-what.

Ultimately Thor makes up his mind. “Bathroom.” He mumbles, picking up the container and leaving. Loki wonders how long the ship’s air circulation will take to scrub the scent from the room.

#

If that first morning is rough, the first time Loki spars with Thor – the first time since fleeing with the Tesseract and tearing everything apart until it can only somewhat be claimed to have come back together again – is worse. Thor cries. Then he swears he’s never fighting with Loki ever again. He’d barely even made a move towards striking Loki.

To say the least, Loki is somewhat perplexed.

He trails, more forlorn than he’d care to admit, out of the Milano’s common area and after Thor, back to the pokey cabin they’re sharing. As he goes, he’s aware of Nebula’s eyes; her attention crawling down the back of his neck. Thor doesn’t seem to notice the assassin as he turns his back on her. He walks until he’s just inside his cabin where he then… stops. Loki, likewise, stops.

Hovering uncertainly in the doorway, Loki takes in the chaos that now makes up Thor’s life. There’s little enough to see. Crumbs cover what surfaces exist, which, frankly, aren’t numerous. There’s the bunk, a small table, and a solitary stool. That now-empty container by the bed. Thor seems to be storing most of his worldly goods under the bunk and those constitute more food than clothes. Then there’s that damn axe.

Thor eventually settles on the edge of the bed, cradling the axe close. Looking in on the scene feels… wrong. Like watching his brother self-destruct is something highly personal that Loki shouldn’t be witnessing. The tesseract sings; offering escape. How she sings!

Thor looks, miserably, up through his messy locks. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not being very-” He makes a gesture with filthy, mittened hands. “You must want to-“ But he can’t seem able to finish the sentence, and Loki fears that, if either of them were attempt to, then maybe he truly would leave.

After all, what is there here for him to stay for?

“You need to train.” Loki says in lieu of retreat. Surely a goal will help? And Thor’s always loved to train. It’s pretty much his defining feature: the tall, heroic figure striding across battle fields to mete out justice. Perhaps if Loki gives him a gentle nudge in the right direction?

Thor’s nodding. As though maybe he agrees.

Then he lies down on the bed, pulls the tatty blanket over his head, and rolls over until his back’s to the door. Loki… literally has _no idea_ what just happened.

A glance along the corridor shows that the small one, Rocket, is watching. Catching Loki’s eye, he opens his mouth, doubtless to say something pointless like ‘don’t take it personally’ or ‘that’s just how he is’. And just like that, rage is there, gushing up and into Loki’s veins. Because it _is_ personal. Loki crossed the blasted galaxy to catch up with this damn fool, and now he’s _not even going to behave like a proper Thor._

Well, curse that!

“Up!” Loki doesn’t realise he’s towering over Thor until he’s got that blanket in his fists. There’s a brief tug of war in which there’s a tearing sound and then they end up with two, smaller, blankets. Loki gets the taste of victory in the form of Thor looking, startled, at him. It goes without saying that getting Thor sitting is heavy work, but anger’s a brilliant drug.

“I don’t think-“ Rocket is trying to interfere. Loki ignores him; Thanos’s minions have humored his brother for long enough as is!

With equal parts bullying and simple brute force, Loki gets Thor to the bathroom and into the small shower cubical. Success tasted, Loki closes the door to give his brother some privacy and returns to the sort out the cabin. He has the cleaning bot run it’s cycle not once but twice and weaves a basic spell over Thor’s clothes (which admittedly might cause more harm than good in the long run for the items are fragile Midgardian garments). He is actually wracking his mind, considering storage solutions for the food items, when it occurs to him that Thor’s been a long time.

He stops. Puts the packets back under the bed.

Why does he have such a bad feeling about this?

When Loki gets back to the bathroom, the door’s open and Loki’s pulse jumping with fear for no reason he’s willing to put his finger on. He slows. There’s a voice coming from within: female.

For a moment Loki’s mind tries to run the maths in one direction, and suggests that he departs quickly, but then he catches the words and remembers that a handful of heartbeats ago he was seriously considering the possibility that Thor had hurt himself. “-I’m sure he doesn’t.”

It’s said in a coxing tone of voice; the words spoken by Thanos’s other daughter, Gamora. Loki’s fairly certain that he’s the ‘he’ in that sentence. Also that Gamora’s definitely not aiming for seductive.

There’s a rumble of words that _might_ be in Thor’s voice, in a reality where he doesn’t happily boom out his every thought. Then comes a reply in Rocket’s snarky voice, “I’d say it would save on the oxygen bill, but, eh, what’s one more?” It’s the voice’s owner more than the words that shoots down any possibility of a romantic encounter. His brother might have a reputation for being a charmer, but, to the best of Loki’s knowledge, Rocket’s not to Thor’s tastes.

Unfortunately for Loki, group chats in bathrooms aren’t usually a good sign.

He should really just take the tesseract and go. It’s just that-

He’s not quite sure _what_ it is. Only that, somehow, he finds himself looking in on the threesome that’s assembled. They’re sitting on the bathroom floor and, fairly obviously, Thor has been crying. Again. Thor must catch Loki’s movement or the shadow or something, for he glances up and, on seeing Loki, flinches; eyes darting away, fingers pulling frayed cuffs down over his mittens.

Loki’s never felt like a jerk when he gets one over on Thor. Thor’s always perfect, or, at any rate, doing a good enough job of persuading everyone else that he’s perfect. So getting one over on him is only for the good. Someone’s got to step up and keep him in check.

This isn’t getting one over on Thor. This is seeing him utterly crushed.

Loki joins the circle.

He looks at Thor and isn’t certain what to say. Oh, he knows what he wants to _do_. He wants to stop Thor from pulling at his clothes and, that achieved, he’ll leave his hands over Thor’s until the fool realizes that everything’s going to be okay. Or maybe he should just… hold Thor’s hand or something. Give him a hug? It had been… nice… to be hugged when he found Thor.

It would be nice to be hugged by Thor again.

Rocket seems to have the petting-Thor-thing covered though, so instead Loki sits there awkwardly. It’s Gamora who gives Loki her full attention. “You were mean.” She says, but, for saying as much, she sounds remarkably non-judgmental about it.

And she’s not wrong.

Loki sighs. He’s not cut out for apologies. “I tidied the room.” He offers by way of making peace.

Thor nods. Manages some eye contact. Says, “Oh. Good.” Loki had been hoping for gratitude, but, then, he possibly owed Thor an apology, so it all evens out.

“You haven’t showered yet.” Gamora shoots Loki an incredulous look and Rocket bears his teeth, but, honestly, neither of them are sharing a room with Thor. So Loki continues, because apparently he just loves making things worse for himself. “You need me to help?”

It’s a ridiculous suggestion. Thor’s a grown man; so’s Loki for that matter. Adults don’t need help with basic personal hygiene. Even supposing Thor does want a little company in the shower block, he’d not wanted Loki’s for the far-less-personal act of getting into shape with training so-

“Okay.”

Ah. Right.

“Oh. Okay then.”

#

Loki hadn’t, when first catching up with Thor, wondered why he was travelling with the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy. After a few days in their, frankly grating, company, he did. Quill is an A-hole who won’t stop talking about money; Rocket’s kleptomaniac; Drax homicidal; and Groot is hardly a deep conversationalist. Then there’re the sisters.

That Loki hadn’t met Gamora before helps. Somewhat.

As for Nebula… Yeah. No.

Still, there’s a familiar routine to life on the Milano. Food. Companionship, if you redefine that as a preference for squabbling. Shelter.

Quests. The ‘Guardians’ basically seem to wander from one heroic moment to another heroic moment, occasionally detouring for a little criminal activity. Lawbreaking aside, Loki can see how their style would appear to Thor, especially as Asgard is… gone.

Sometimes Loki wants to ask about that. Then he decides he’d rather not. Some forms of knowledge have a way of burrowing into one, changing more than just one’s knowledge of the universe; changing one’s very soul. If the way Thor cries out for their mother some nights is any indication, Loki’s not ready to hear more.

He tries to ignore the nights that he hears his own name. What he can’t ignore is the way Thor touches him, lightly, when passing. Fingertips almost reverent, as they rest against the back of his neck. It’s not a habit Thor had been in before.

Then again, Loki hadn’t been so clingy back then. These nights he finds himself looking forward to the hours he can spend, curled up against Thor’s back, arms holding him close.

People change: it’s life.

Loki wishes his nightmares would change. After a less than pleasant night reliving his first introduction to the Chitauri – and not, that time, as their sort-of-commander – he’s surprised that Thor insists they leave the ship and head planetside. Usually getting Thor off the ship, at least without the offer of either a quest or drinking ‘til he’s sick, is… unlikely.

But this morning Thor seems almost a different person. He’s up and dressed, dark glasses covering his mismatched eyes, while Loki’s still trying to shake off the night terror’s lingering effects. When they leave the ship, Loki’s hand warm in Thor’s, he cuts through the crowds with decision. Loki’s half expecting that they’ll end up at a bar for a little liquid courage and oblivion.

Instead they go to a bathhouse.

While Thor pays for a small private pool, Loki looks around. Gleaming tiles cover every surface and, even in the main reception, steam lies thick on the air. Loki’s fairly certain the water will be painfully hot, just as Thor prefers.

Yet when they enter the room, Loki finds he’s misjudged the moment again. Condensation rims the deep, wide tub; Thor remembering Loki’s preferences even now. Misassumptions are piling upon failed conjuncture; this reality making Loki dizzy.

Thor turns to close the door and Loki wants to convey his thanks. He touches Thor’s elbow to catch his attention. But when he speaks, it’s to say, “Really, it should have been obvious I wasn’t a hot-blooded Asir.”

Thor turns, close enough that Loki feels just a little less set-adrift. His raises his hand, making that odd, little neck-touch he’s adopted. “Of course, you’re Asir. In every way that counts. It was your home, too.”

 _Was_. So, now Loki knows. He swallows. Promises himself he won’t cry. Both because then it will be two of them falling apart, and also because he quit Asgard years ago. So how can he grieve for her now?

Desperate for a change in topic, he tugs at Thor’s hair, clean these days, but hopelessly tangled. “I could cut this,” he offers. “It’s a bit of a-“

Thor steps back, slamming hard enough into the door that it shakes. “ _No!_ ” Just that one word and no more. There’s a wild, haunted expression on Thor’s face. Loki wants to remove those hideous glasses; to get a better read on Thor’s frame of mind. He’s stopped by Thor’s terrible tension, unable to get closer.

It leaves Loki not certain what to say. He swallows. Looks uncertainly around the room. Looks back at Thor. “I wasn’t meaning a lot.” He says, although he had, in fact, been thinking of exactly that. “Just the worst bits. Tidy it all up.” Mother would never have let it become so wild.

“No.” At least Thor now sounds certain rather than upset. “It’s fine.”

It’s really not. “Okay.” Maybe he can just trim a bit off while Thor’s asleep? Not the full treatment he gave Sif, all those centuries ago, but just a little?

“I-“ Thor swallows. Takes Loki’s hands and holds them, tightly, before his face. Loki has wild a moment to wonder whether, maybe, that strange new eye is enchanted leaving Thor able to see into the inner deliberations of others. Did he sacrifice his eye for knowledge, much as Odin did?

But when Thor continues, it is to say, “In that time… the time you weren’t here for? Something happened.” He swallows. Looks away. Looks back. Wetness trickles down his cheeks and, damn, but Loki really wants those glasses gone. “They took my hair. I-“

But there he stops. And there Loki lets him stop. Steps forward and holds him close. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, desolate. “I didn’t know.” Gently he smooths a hand over Thor’s tangled hair, careful not to ensnarl his fingers. Trying to imagine Thor bald is impossible; stranger by far than this extra weight that his brother is carrying around.

He presses a kiss to Thor’s temple. “That’s terrible.” He can’t imagine anyone willingly shearing the locks of an Asgardian warrior. Well, apart from himself.

And here had been Thor, willing to rest trustingly besides him!

Loki repeats his kiss, hoping to convey that Thor’s safe to trust him; in this one thing if nothing else.

“It was a long time ago.” Thor murmurs, body held still and awkward. It’s not a long time ago. Loki’s only missing eleven years. Eleven years, maximum, is not a long time.

He runs his hands over Thor’s hair one last time, then pulls away. “Nonetheless, we’re going to have to get on top of that thatch.” Heading to the pool, Loki checks the inlets. Finds the hot water. Spares a moment to regret the loss of a good, cold dip, and lets the water flow. “Get in.”

It takes hours, literally, to work the knots out of Thor’s hair. Loki’s back aches from bending over from his perch on the bath’s edge and his legs are numb in the water where Thor’s leaning back against them. And, yes, Loki cheated and used a blade on two occasions, both of which Thor pretended to ignore. Uncomfortable position aside, there’s something pleasant in the activity. In weaving braids into his adopted-brother’s hair. In watching the way that Thor relaxes, sinking back against Loki as he works.

“All done.” Loki stretches with a low, pained moan. “My turn now.”

#

Thor might not be willing to train with Loki, but the same cannot be said of Drax. Loki watches the pair disappear day after day and tells himself that he doesn’t need Thor enough to be jealous.

Still, he’s not going to be the only odd-one-out. So it is that he corners Gamora, frustrated from another ‘heart-to-heart’ with Quill, and asks her to train.

“Thank the gods,” She snarls as she tries to take his head off. “I really need to punch someone today.” That’s fine by Loki; so does he.

Nights are somewhat better. Loki’s managed to win the battle of the sleeping habits with Thor, and they now lie spooned, Loki behind Thor. It’s hard to dream of torture when your arms are full of one you associate with safety.

Lying thus though, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that, while Thor might be toning up, he’s certainly not losing weight. That their bed is nightly filled with crumbs is doubtless in part responsible.

He tries to talk to Thor about that – that and the drinking ‘til he’s sick – but Thor is prickly about his eating in a way that Loki’s never known him to be over anything, ever. Their ‘talks’ turn into shouting matches that only conclude when Thor storms from the room. Loki seriously contemplates throwing everything in the recycling, save that it would only be a delaying tactic: Thor’s perfectly capable of buying more food.

Loki’s not certain which part frustrates him more. That Thor is behaving so self-destructively. Or that waking on a bed of crumbs keeps tricking Loki’s own mind into imaging the knives and needles of Thanos’s torturing minions.

It’s pointless to say as much to Thor, for it’s ridiculous that Loki’s sleeping mind can confuse slight prickles with stabbing agony. Besides if Thor thought he were causing Loki such distress it would only upset him. Only make him cry.

Still, watching Thor lavish care and attention on a battleaxe he barely uses while letting their room fall into squalor… Loki would be lying if he wouldn’t confess to a desire to wash his hands of it all and simply depart.

It’s not as though his presence seems to be helping Thor. Thor is… still easy to tears; still refusing to spar with Loki; still full of silence and evasive maneuvers. Case in point: the Guardians have made landfall and headed to a bar. Thor is lurking silently in a corner.

When they’d first met, Thor had seemed laughing and bright; now Loki wonders that he must have caught his brother on a good day. That, or else his appearance truly has caused a deterioration in Thor’s state of mind. Either way, it’s clear that something is broken; broken and not coming back.

Worry transforms to frustration when Loki realizes that he’s finished his drink and, as Quill won’t put him on the payroll, doesn’t have the credit for more. Not that it seems like a good time for him, too, to pick up a drinking addition. As he leaves, he brushes past Drax, who is making a beeline for Thor. Thor, the traitor, smiles to welcome him.

Loki leaves the bar, but, more than that, Loki makes plans to leave the crew.

#

Three nights later and everything is different. He’s sitting, shaky, in his bed, wrapped up in a blanket that Thor has forced upon him, and drinking a strong mug of stimulant dosed with only-Rocket-knows-what.

He can’t seem to stop shaking.

 _Buy him!_ Someone just up and decided to buy _and then gamble_ him. Like he wasn’t even a sentient person. Like he didn’t deserve so much as a single thought and-

Thanos had picked him up. Thanos had taken him and used him and made it _perfectly_ clear that Loki’s life was no longer his own.

And then it was again-

Except that now it appears that-

Thor’s rambling and Loki can hear himself responding, mostly running on automatic. The words are irrelevant, though he thinks that he might upset Thor at one point. But in the end, the main thing is that he has Thor’s hand holding his. Which is strange and lovely.

Thor had offered, without hesitation, to give up that which he most valued, just for Loki and-

It’s too much, and Loki is alarmed to realise that all that he really wants to do is to fall asleep and worry about it all in the morning. Leaving problems until the next morning hadn’t been much of an option with the mad titan; it tended to result in the sufferer waking up dead.

Here, it seems to result in him waking up to the sounds of Thor cleaning.

Just in case it’s an auditory hallucination – some figment from his past finding a new way to torment him – Loki opens one eye cautiously and checks the room. Thor is there, wearing clothes so ugly they should be burned; the snack packets remain, poking out from under the bed although – for once – there are no crumbs amongst the sheets; and Loki can see the ugly bare walls of their ugly bare cabin. It doesn’t _seem_ like a figment of his imagination.

On the table, there’s an ownership chip that represents an entire uninhabited but habitable planet.

Vacuumed up by the bot Thor’s directing, the remnants for the slave deeds are quickly vanishing. Loki feels sick, just thinking about that. Not quite badly enough to reach for the container by the bed, but close.

“You’re up,” Thor says, as though he wasn’t the one usually abed. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Nothing.” Loki can’t think of anything worse. “Are we still-?”

Thor frowns, then seems to catch his drift. “We left last night.” He runs a surprisingly clear, assessing look over Loki. “I’m guessing you were in shock when the decisions were made?”

Loki wonders if he’s somehow letting Thor down, if he admits that _maybe_ he _might_ have been shaken. Just a little.

Surprisingly Thor sits, ever so gingerly, on the bed besides him. There’s a careful gap between them. Then, ever so slowly, Thor moves his hand until it rests on Loki’s knee. “Can I-“ He stops. “Is there anything-“ He trails off, then, after an moment’s internal agonizing, gives Loki a tortured look.

Loki can’t figure it out. It’s not like anything truly awful happened. All right, so he was snatched from a public place, put in chains that emitted horrific electric shocks when he tried to reach for his Seidr, and faced the possibility of being sold across the galaxy for the pleasure of a being he knew nothing about. But _other than that…?_

Then he remembers how to be himself and looks up, though his eyelashes, at Thor, carefully assessing. Thor looks… almost good. He always does rise well to adversary.

A little bit of manipulation’s not going to break him, surely? Not today?

And there is something Loki very much wants.

Awareness washes across Thor’s face, almost although he’s _already figured out_ that Loki’s planning to playing him. Which has to be impossible, as Loki’s only just decided to do so. In the name of Bor’s warty chin, what had his alternative self _been up to_?

#

The planet in the Origa system is as lovely as it is remote. Aside from nearly getting eaten by a giant fresh-water ichthyosaur-wanna-be in the first five minutes of their arrival, their sojourn is relatively carefree. That’s due, in part, to the tesseract keeping them one step ahead of the larger predators as they move from continent to island chain and back again.

It’s almost like a holiday. Until Loki gets down to what he really wants from Thor. Needless to say, Thor balks.

“Well, it’s clear that Drax isn’t giving you a proper workout.” Stupid, he shouldn’t have hinted at Thor’s weight.

Thor, however, seemed more fixated on the endgame than their route there. “No.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve seen me and Gamora, I-“ _need a proper match_ , is how he was going to finish that sentence.

Thor beats him with, “She nearly knocked you silly.”

“I tripped.”

“You could have broken you n-“ Thor cuts himself off.

“What is it with you and this new neck fetish?” Thor goes pale and it does occurs to Loki that maybe he shouldn’t push any further. Because it doesn’t look like he’s doing anything other than ruining an lovely little bit of exploration; Thor’s going to fall in with his plan.

But push he does. Because, a handful of days ago, Loki had thought Thor broken beyond repair. Then yesterday he’d seen, once again, hints of the decision and risk-taking he’d known his bro- his Thor to thrive on. So instead of quitting, he drives home his point all the harder. “Are you going to leave me weak, brother? Leave me undertrained and vulnerable to attack?” He draws a line at referring too directly to his death – he wants to spar, not end up holding a teary wreck – but he cuts it close on those fronts, then goes in for the kill, “Don’t you trust me?”

The sensible answer – the obvious and correct answer – should be that _no, Thor does not trust him_. Alas for Thor, he’s not wired in a sensible way.

Thor goes still. Pulls off a truly tragic face. Looks briefly like he wants to cry.

Loki _does not_ repeat the shower-scene debacle. Rather, he backs up, just a little. “We’ll just run through the standard forms. Nothing freeform or too aggressive.” And then, because sometimes with Thor simply asking works, “Please?”

Thor caves.

#

Later, Loki will reflect that, as training exercises go, it lacked in pretty much every aspect. For him, at least. It was slow; featured moves with no in force; and was conducted with a partner he knows far too well. For Thor, well… It’s harder to say.

Certainly Loki has never before felt like he’s leading the dance. Never been the one to push and correct and, always, _always_ , keep a weather eye out lest Thor over-reach himself physically or, in this instance, emotionally.

He can kind of see why Thor might like being a big brother. Even if it is a lot of trouble.

There’s more trouble for them, back on board the Milano.

“What do you mean, _teleported_?” Quill is snarling. He looks about as threatening as a puffed up quail.

“Teleported.” Loki makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Instantaneous transportation from one place to another. You know? As is easily possible with the space stone.”

“The- ? You’re not meant to be _using_ the blasted space stone and-“

“That’s what it’s there for.” Why anyone would leave a perfectly useful artifact lying around, unloved and underappreciated, is beyond Loki.

“And _that’s_ exactly what Thanos said.” Quill looks around at his crewmates, clearly thinking he’s made some sort of point there. They look back rather blankly, so Quill clarifies: “It’s clear the apple didn’t fall far from the tree when he-“

Loki would be curious to see where Quill’s going to take whatever he’s insinuating, but Rocket interrupts. “That could be really useful next time we’re stuck. Just in case anyone was interested in an alternative viewpoint.”

“It’s a god-damned _infinity stone_!” Loki’s actually impressed by the notes Quill is hitting. “It’s not meant to be an everyday type of fallback plan! It’s for an apocalypse, not a fieldtrip!”

Thor makes a strange noise and, for a heartrending moment, Loki’s convinced that all the good of their little ‘fieldtrip’ has been undone; that talk of the end of the world has driven Thor to tears. Then he realizes that Thor is laughing. “Good luck in getting it off Loki,” he says.

Loki goes to bed cheerful. He sleeps well.

The next morning, they’re back at step one again.

#

Seriously. It’s like Thor never rose, bright and decisive, the day before. Like he didn’t win Loki back from the clutches of slavers nor agree, admittedly under duress, that the two of them could resume training together.

Loki stands in the center of their cabin, looking at a Thor who won’t even admit to being awake, and wonders what in the name of the infernal Hels he’s meant to do.

Groot pokes his head around the door. “I am Groot.”

“No.” Loki confirms. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I am Groot.”

“No, I don’t think Quill will let me take his place either.”

Groot leaves and soon the ship is silent.

Loki materializes the tesseract. It’s a thing of complex intrigue and deep beauty. Soft blue light is shed, illuminating and disguising the cabin’s meagre contents at one and the same time; making the familiar look strange even while hiding a strangeness at the center of its own existence.

And it’s singing. As ever.

There’s another tesseract in this reality. Or, more correctly, _this_ is the alternative tesseract. The two are each aware of the other, and Loki would like to know what would happen should they ever be brought into contact. Would their power redouble? Would they obliterate galaxies? Mayhap they’d simply merge and become one.

That would be rather disappointing.

Sometimes Loki wonders if he’s merging and becoming one with Thor. For as vexing as his brother’s bouts of depression and trauma are, Loki finds himself unwilling to leave and set himself free.

“I’m glad you found a way free.” Loki gives Thor a sidelong look, but says no more. Thor lies still, eyes blinking sleepily. After a moment, he continues. “Of Thanos. Of everything.” Another, long pause. Then, very tentatively, as though testing out a wound, Thor asks, “What did you want to do today?”

Loki almost says sparring. Because that’s what he _wants_. Wants to be stronger, faster, more lethal than any of Thanos’s guard. Wants to see his brother grinning at his success. Wants to see _Thor’s_ successes.

“Go to a spa?” He says cautiously, remembering the luxury of that lovely bathhouse they’d visited. “You’re paying.” If Thor’s any money left.

Thor gives him a strange look. Nods to the table where the planet chip is. To the credit stack next to it. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem after that game. Not for a while.” Then, “Pass me my sunglasses.”

#

The last spa had been… difficult although generally positive. Thor had been strange and confused; Loki haunted. Neither personal situation has much changed and yet…

It’s nice, sitting there in the water, feeling Thor’s hands working soap in against his scalp. The water’s been scented with something floral and alien that Loki can’t place, yet finds relaxing. And while they’ve had to compromise at a temperature that’s really too hot for Loki, too cool for Thor, that just seems to drive all haste from their actions.

After, when Thor has finished Loki’s hair and Loki Thor’s, he encourages his brother to lean back against him while they just enjoy the water. It’s a soothing reflection of their nights’ sleeping. Truly, Loki suspects Thor’s currently barely awake.

Collecting warmer water in a small jug, Loki pours it gently over his brother’s hair and across his shoulders. Where the water touches Loki, it’s near hot enough for pain, but the sensation’s clearly pleasant to Thor, so he continues, if with more care.

Care and reflection.

For this is certainly not an activity he’d have ever thought to share with Thor. Not in all their centuries of adventuring and battling. Loki would have proposed that he’d sooner teach Thor the intricacies of Seidr, while Thor would show him the trick to Mjolnir, rather than that they take care of one another thus.

Maybe it’s an omission for too long suffered.

Mother had been at pains to urge that they look after one another, Loki remembers, thoughts drifting as he lets the filling and emptying of the jug ease his mind into meditation. Had said that brothers should treat one another well. Had said that half of the value apparently intrinsic to anything, came from its treatment as much as its worth.

Maybe they – Thor included – had all been spending too much time trying to remind Thor how to be Thor: Crown Prince of Asgard; God of Thunder; a Mighty Warrior.

Maybe Loki should have spent more time in showing his brother that, no matter what he feared, he was worthy of love and care and peace. Not just respect and duty and an awe that bordered on fear.

#

The Milano next heads to a moon full of ruins for a little ‘excavation’ and, after that, they escort a peace convoy through a contested region of space. Because Norns forbid that a mass extinction event like the snap leave the various and assorted beings of the galaxy in a state beyond their usual fascination with war.

After that run, there’s a lively night in a bar. Loki expects Thor to be eager to attend; it’s a chance to drink himself into oblivion for free, but Thor declines the invitation and Loki is left to attend that evening, alone save for the other Guardians. He doesn’t like the feeling.

The next day they go to a small medical research colony, collecting vials to transport to various local planets. Loki thinks, here at last, Quill will have to admit that the tesseract has merit. Yet to his frustration, the almost-human refuses to consider its possible utility.

Loki could transport the drug himself, but decides that’s not his nature. Any deaths incurred by their delay, can rest upon Quill’s head. Needless to say, there are no deaths. Clearly the universe likes Quill. Well, that makes one of them.

Then there’s a minor rescue mission. They succeed, but Drax – delight of all delights – is injured, if only slightly. That puts a sharp halt to Thor’s preferred sparring partnership; an outcome apparently frustrating enough that he capitulates and accepts Loki’s offer.

It’s still strange to coddle this man he’s known to end battles with a single strike. Speed and dexterity have always been Loki’s watchwords, but they’ve been Thor’s too. Now he struggles with his extra mass and the knock-on impact on his balance. It’s easy for Loki to take advantage of, yet surprisingly fulfilling when he doesn’t. There’s something… of meaning… for Loki to find the edges of his brother’s skills and push. Push, but not overwhelm.

Thor’s gasping, breath coming hard and ragged, when they finish.

He doesn’t wait for Loki’s suggestion before departing for the shower.

#

Their next mission starts badly and quickly gets worse. Quill, because he’s a jerk who cares for nothing save credits, accepts a contract to give passage to a group of traders. So far, not so bad. But the Milano’s packed to the gills, and three extra beings is pushing it. Loki’s run the maths even before their new guests arrive and the answer is troublesome. Groot has one cabin, Drax and Rocket have individual, if small, spaces. Loki resides with Thor in what used to be Gamora’s cabin, while Gamora has the more spacious captain’s cabin. Because she’s sensible and kicked Quill out, Gamora shares that space with her sister. Quill, in a rare fit of gallantry, is staying in badly converted storage chamber.

The only cabins big enough to take three guests are the ones currently enjoyed by Gamora, Thor, and Groot. Groot’s is messy and unfit for adults; Gamora and Nebula will murder anyone rather than move. Not to mention that several of the ship’s more sensitive systems have secondary backups in that room.

“Really, it’s fine.” Thor is saying, frantically trying to gather his positions up.

Yes, Loki’s planning on killing Quill.

“It’s just for a few days,” Quill says. For once he seems subdued, as though it’s just occurred to him that booting-out someone who’s clearly messed up isn’t entirely supportive. Well, that’s rather too little empathy, too late.

“The common area will be fine.” Thor nods. Tries to bundle half-finished cartons of food into a blanket, which ends exactly as one would expect.

Loki sighs and bends to help. “Let me.” It would be nice if the blanket somehow survived this process in an approximately reasonable state.

Gamora, passing, watches for a moment and, when Loki’s about to bite her head off for just looking on, says, “There’s room in our cabin.” Loki thinks he might love her.

Quill looks seriously alarmed. “Hey. Are you sure? I mean he’s one of Thanos’s-” And then he stops, because apparently even Quill isn’t stupid enough to worry about the dangers of leaving one of Thanos’s children with another.

Besides, Nebula’s the dangerous one.

Gamora’s offer, when more carefully explored, isn’t quite the refuge implied. Unlike the cabin Thor’s taken over, where Loki and Thor lie far too close on a bunk that isn’t quite double-sized, Gamora and Nebula have welded narrow benches to opposite sides of the room and – quite literally – split the space down the middle. As they enter, Nebula is unbolting the separating partition. It still doesn’t leave that much floor space between the two bunks.

Still, it’s better than spending the next few night sleeping on the floor of the incredibly public common area.

Thor puts down the blankets. When the cookies and fried-snacks tumble free, Gamora just sighs, apparently resigned.

That first night is difficult. Loki lies with his back to Gamora’s bunk, hopelessly aware of the gaping empty space below. Anything could be lurking. He curls closer into Thor; a solid, real presence in the dark of the night, and listens to the breath rumble in and out of that chest. It takes a long time to fall asleep.

#

Thor might seem, on the surface, to accept their change in situation, but, as the days brush past, dark circles grow under his eyes, until Loki notices and realizes that his brother’s getting as little sleep as he himself.

As the lack of sleep starts to weigh in, Loki feels his temper grow short; sees Thor become more withdrawn. He declines sparring sessions with Drax; stays in the sisters’ room until Nebula – annoyed at his eternal presence – forces him out; and returns to his hours of petting the battleaxe.

Loki’s thankful to have an outlet for his frustrations and throws Gamora across the small area that Nebula and Quill had finally agreed is appropriate for sparring. She hits the floor, somehow twisting so that her feet touch it first, and springs straight at Loki on the rebound. Loki finds himself flat on his back, staring up into her delighted grin, and dully aware of the others in the common room laughing.

He takes the hand she offers to pull him up, then uses the contact to knee her in the groin. Not as effective as with a bloke, but effective enough.

While she doubles over, Loki steps back wanting to put a little safety margin between the two of them. Or, rather, he tries to.

Gamora twists her grip on his wrist and Loki’s options very rapidly become ‘fold’ or ‘live with a broken arm’.

He does – briefly – consider the broken arm. Pride’s a self-destructive force.

Back and forth they work until Loki can feel sweat along his hairline, and Gamora’s hands shake when applying her holds. “Time?” He suggests and is rewarded by her grin.

“Until next time.” It’s only when she runs that Loki realizes he’s in a race for the shower. A race that he’s going to lose because-

Except that he has a tesseract.

Winning is always sweet.

#

Alas, he isn’t winning for long. By the time he leaves the shower, passing a ticked-off Gamora counting down the time she’s spent waiting, Thor’s integrated himself with their guests. By ‘integrated’, Loki means that Thor’s found a way of stealing their booze.

Watching his brother on yet another bottle, he gives up.

Turning his back on whatever may happen next, Loki heads back to the former captain’s cabin. To the torn and shabby blankets on the floor. To a space that’s cramped and impersonal. Is this really what he escaped Thanos to experience? A life as pathetic as this?

It’s late and he’s tired. Decisions made while exhausted lead to folly. So he resigns himself to one more night on the Milano, and wraps himself as best he can in the blankets, hoping to detract from the floor’s evocative hardness. If he’s any luck, after her shower Gamora will join the A-holes in the communal space, leaving Loki an hour or two of peace in which to sleep.

The door opens. Thor, far earlier than Loki expected, stumbles in.

And Loki loses it. He’s not entirely certain what he says. But this much he knows; he’s not spending the night next to a steaming drunk. If Thor’s so wedded to his alcohol, then he can blasted well go and sleep with it in the communal area.

By the time the door slides shut on the empty space, Loki’s breathing harder than ever he did sparring. He can’t seem to stop shaking. Can’t seem to calm enough to sit down.

Which is ridiculous, and so Loki forces himself to lie flat. Presses the heels of his hands in to his eye sockets – not to hold back tears, but just because – and-

Thor’s missing an eye.

And Loki _still_ doesn’t know what happened to the man he’d once known.

Maybe he cries and maybe he doesn’t, but eventually sleep comes for him. It’s a dark and twisted journey through his dreams. Only the tesseract’s gentle glow leads him forward as he passes though the void and on into the torture chambers of Thanos. Knives cut his flesh and brands burn him; words – secrets so intrinsic to his soul that their extraction feels fatal – spill like blood over his lips.

He dreams, both now and then, of a golden-haired savior. Of someone impossibly strong, improbably forgiving. Someone to save him.

But when he opens his eyes, all that greets him is Thanos’s daughter. His scream strangles in his throat, and Loki thrashes, trying to win free of the restraints that bind him. With lurching horror he realizes that he’s helpless before this specter of the past, and- But then, miraculously, the bindings fail. Loki doesn’t waste a second in marveling over his good fortune – doubtless it’s just another test – instead he reaches straight between the folds of reality, summoning a blade and driving it home in the same instant.

A hand catches his wrist; blade just a breath from gutting his tormentor.

Snarling, tears streaming free, Loki drives his elbow back into his new assailant. There’s the huffed exhalation marking a job well done, but the hold doesn’t relent. When he reaches out with his weaker right arm that too is caught.

Then Nebula’s upon him.

Loki wishes, as he has a thousand times before, he were anywhere else. Suddenly he is.

#

Of all the places Loki would have thought panic would lead him, New York is not one of them.

Yet, here he is. In the bright daylight, at the foot of a tower rebuilt to be even more garish 'though now decked in mourning. People passing look at him and start to edge away. Someone screams, which Loki thinks is overreacting somewhat.

It’s not like he’s doing anything particularly malevolent.

Well, apart from holding a brace of daggers.

It’s that which jerks him from his trance. That lets time start to flow with more logic. For he’s awake and free and, of all hideous mistakes, is on Midgard. Yet when he went to sleep? Clearly he reached out to the tesseract, but did he do that dreaming or-?

Damn, but he shouldn’t have agreed to share a cabin with that monster. He _knew_ that she’d take any opportunity to come for him if only he let down his guard and-

Is that what really happened?

Has she attacked him or-? There are rapidly fading bruises on his wrists, but then Loki’s holding blades; restraint is logical. Had Nebula inflicted harm against him or had he slept and, in sleeping, dreamed? Dreamed of horrors best not reflected upon and, upon opening his eyes and seeing a woman in her own room assumed-?

He wants to sit down. However, in the distance a siren starts to sounds. So instead he activates the tesseract.

He doesn’t return to the Milano.

#

It takes Loki nearly two weeks to decide to return to Thor. It’s hard to put his finger on what, exactly, keeps him away. Thor himself should be an easy explanation. Yet Loki finds his feelings instead tied up in shame and fear and – this last the hardest to pin down – a sensation of immutable hopelessness, grinding away at him.

So apparently Thor’s not the only one having an existential crisis. Bully for them. They’re hardly going to be unique in their experience.

Loki activates the tesseract and returns.

Arriving in Thor’s cabin, Loki’s… startled. He’d known that their unappreciated guests would be gone; had expected to return to crumpled cartons and gloom. Maybe a brother curled up; eyes hazy and unresponsive. Instead the cabin is bare as ever, but clean. The bed linen is depressingly threadbare, but made. There are snacks and bottles, but they are stacked neatly under the bunk. Thor’s few changes of clothes are folded next to the snacks. A small bedside cabinet has appeared besides Thor’s morning container, and there’s what looks like an actual house plant on it.

Loki’s books are neat on the table. Loki hadn’t realized he’d left the books here; hadn’t realized he’d settled enough to have stopped returning them to his pocket dimensions.

The door opens behind him.

Loki holds his position, not wanting to turn lest he find rejection. “I suppose the ship’s scanners noticed my arrival?”

“Loki-“ Thor whispers. And then Loki is pulled into a hug, almost falling over backwards as he’s tugged close; spine pressed safely against Thor’s belly. “I missed you.”

Loki closes his eyes. Something primitive and frightened, an instinct he’s barely noticed in the days that he’s been away, eases down. He places his hand over Thor’s; slots their fingers together. “Missed you, too.”

#

The Milano is apparently now docked at Xandar. Usually the first place Thor would head to is a bar; Loki, to whatever passes for a library. Today they go, by shared agreement, to the shoreline. Thor says they might meet up with Rocket and the others. Loki couldn’t care less.

#

Life continues, but there’s a change in the rhythm. Thor’s steadily drinking less and Loki’s… he’s sleeping better.

One day Thor returns to their cabin, pulling at the hem of his garment. His lip is wobbling; clearly fighting the urge to cry. Loki looks over intending to ask what happened, but he’s caught, startled, as Thor tugs the item off, leaving his hair and beard in disarray but his eyes dry. His brother seems, for once, to be staying in control of his breakdown.

“I wasn’t careful enough training with Drax.” Already damaged previously, the tabard – or whatever it is that mortals name such clothing – is finished. Loki can hardly believe his luck; an unengineered excuse to _finally_ burn and replace the hideous idem! When Thor’s changed and headed back out to do whatever, Loki swings into action.

There are still credits in a box by the plant on their table; credits from that time Thor’d rescued Loki from whatever fate accompanied being slave to a Grandmaster. Thor might have won the credits (and Loki), but he hadn’t actively said that they weren’t also Loki’s. Acting on the assumption that forgiveness is always more easily obtained than permission – especially when one’s brother is off sparring with Drax again – Loki takes a handful and leaves the ship.

He heads to the market and quickly enough finds what he’s looking for. Thereafter, it’s simply a matter of returning to the Milano.

Later, when Thor looks in, hair damn with sweat, Loki unfortunately loses the moment. “Drax says there’s a nice bathhouse here. We’re heading over. Want to come along too and get cleaned up?”

Loki nearly says ‘no’. He has a surprise here; he wants to use it and see Thor smile.

But Thor doesn’t want a surprise, he wants to go to the bathhouse with Drax. Loki considers just leaving. He can go anywhere. Can find a place with no Drax; no scrounging for credits just to cover the basics; no having-a-good-idea that no one seems to notice.

Thor steps more fully into the room. Puts his hand, still clad in those terrible mittens, on Loki’s shoulder. Loki should storm and shout. Should demand that Thor stop leaving him behind. Should make sharp declarations of blame until a guilty Thor will do anything he wants.

Thor says, “We don’t have to go. Not if you don’t want to.”

And like that, anger turns to misery. It’s Thor who’s meant to cry all the time, but Loki’s the one suddenly overwhelmed.

“Hey,” Thor smooths Loki’s hair back. “It’ll be nice. We can leave the others; get a private pool, just you and me. We can make it as cold as you like.” There’s something more than cajoling in his voice, but Loki can’t place the tone because he’s wearing those hideous sunglasses and so Loki _can’t see his eyes_.

“Okay.” Loki agrees. “But only if you promise not to wear the glasses.”

Thor flinches. “Why?”

Loki stays silent, for he can’t think of a single sensible reason for his demand. After a moment Thor removes the glasses. This doesn’t help Loki to read his expression, for Thor keeps his head bowed, hair in loose curtains around his face, the entire walk to meet up with the other ‘Guardians’. Any excitement their crewmates have at seeing Thor come to join them turns to confusion when Thor says that they’re going to find a private corner.

“Another day, another secretive sauna?” Quill asks. “Do I even what to ask what you two get up to for all that time?”

“A bathhouse is used for bathing,” Drax says, subtle as a sledgehammer to the head. “This is self-evident. And-” Even just seeing Drax turn to Thor, Loki knows where this is going “-it has been greatly beneficial for you. You look more relaxed and you smell less unpleasant.”

Because, in Thor’s eyes, apparently Drax can do no wrong, Loki’s idiot-brother just smiles wryly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Drax throws an arm over Thor’s shoulders. He makes the gesture look natural, companionable. “You were in pain. These things happen. Recovery is often slow.”

“Slow is fine. Slow is acceptable.” Quill says. “The stinky? That was less good.” Loki can’t disagree with him.

#

A bath is, as ever, a wonderful idea. They get a sunken pool choked with ice and, once showered, Thor lounges on the side braiding Loki’s hair. Loki could get used to this level of pandering.

The illusion of perfection wavers only once; when Thor’s fingers dip to linger on a scar, higher than the rest, that climbs from Loki’s shoulder, along the side of his neck and into his hairline. For a moment he can’t move, afraid that Thor will ask a question; will shatter the moment.

But, when Thor leans close, it’s not to whisper in horror. Instead he places a gentle kiss against the scar, and then returns to the complex work he’s making of Loki’s hair. The tension eases.

Loki’s so relaxed after the bath, he forgets Thor might not be.

He’s focused on the pleasant feeling of being clean and cool and safe. Of not having to worry about whether he’ll be in pain the next morning, nor whether he can quickly reach a blade.

He has fun platting Thor’s beard and then decides that maybe it’s a good moment to hand over his surprise, his magic glittering as he summons the robe.

It’s a nice robe. Made of soft, rich red velvet. Not as heavy duty as Asgardian leathers, but similarly styled to sweep over the lines of one’s form rather than… hang less glamorously.

Loki chose the patterning of the cuffs to be deliberately abstract; it’s not escaped his attention that there’s exactly one Asgardian rune on the Milano, ‘peace’, and it’s been badly painted – presumably by a shop assistant with more education than tact – on Thor’s plant pot.

Thor touches the cloth, fingers careful, eyes guarded. “What’s this?”

Just by being queried, Loki’s decision-making suddenly seems a whole lot more presumptuous. What can he say? That he thought Thor looked tatty? He missed seeing Thor take pride in himself? He enjoyed touching this new softness of Thor’s and thought the fabric would accentuate this? He just wanted Thor to feel blanketed in something nice?

Then he remembers his excuse and is home, free. “You tore your…” Loki makes a vague gesture at his midriff. “Remember?” He keeps his voice light and indifferent.

After a moment, Thor accepts the garment.

#

It’s a nice robe, if Loki does say so himself. Thor suits it. Naturally, when they rejoin the rest of the Guardians, there is teasing mockery but, listen as carefully as he might, Loki hears no more than good-natured banter in it. He relaxes.

Too soon as it transpires.

They go out, and they eat. Tales are told and histories are – most likely – rewritten for dramatic impact. Quill, vexingly enough, turns out to be a witty teller of tall tales. Loki tries to work out how they’ve been living on the same ship for so long, yet he’s managed to miss this fact.

But as they talk, they attract other revelers; their group growing beyond the limits of those who know one another well. There’re the girls hovering around Drax and the gun-slinger type who’s in occasional intense conversation with Nebula. The barkeep drifts back and forth throwing in comments, while there’s always an elder or two with no place better to go. They come for the stories, but they stay to tell their own. They digress. The subjects grow more random: long lost loves; old challenges; battles long since gone; the dead.

Besides Loki, Thor grows silent.

Then someone asks Nebula when she received her first ‘adaption’.

Anyone watching the group would know Nebula not unaffected. Never expressive, her face still seems to freeze. Gamora scowls; hand drifting to a knife. Rocket’s teeth bear.

Besides Loki, Thor is shaking.

Not so much as to be obvious by eye. Not to most. But Loki can see the liquid in the glass in Thor’s hand, and it’s full of dancing ripples.

The others are jumping to Nebula’s defense, so Loki permits himself to be occupied with Thor. Under the table, Loki lets his hand rest, hoping to be reassuring, against Thor’s leg, but that just makes Thor jump hard enough to knock the table. Drinks spill.

Everyone looks in their direction. The tension is broken. Or so it seems.

Nebula stands. “I am leaving now.” And she goes. Gamora hovers, uncertain whether or not to follow.

“I-“ Thor’s on his feet. With the old Thor, Loki would assume he intended on going to the comfort of the Lady Nebula. But this Thor…? “I’m just-“ Thor leaves; it’s not to follow Nebula.

Loki’s not Gamora; he doesn’t hesitate to follow his adopted kin.

He finds Thor in the bathroom, throwing up. It’s a sight he’s become somewhat inured to over their time together. Still, it’s galling to soothe back hair he helped to braid only hours ago, and find it in need to washing again. There’s splash marks on the new robe.

“I’m sorry.” Thor gasps.

“Well, you can’t wear that forever. And it can be cleaned.” Loki tries to be philosophical. “Are you done?” Thor nods, almost jerking his hair from Loki’s grip and thus ending his attempts to save it from further harm. “Good. Good. I’ll get you some water.”

It’s only when he goes to the table to do as much, that he realizes Thor’s glass already contains water. That Thor hadn’t spent the evening drinking beer or stronger. Yet if not alcohol-?

Thor’s still shaken and apologetic when Loki returns. He drinks the water unsteadily and can’t seem to stop playing with his hair.

 _No_ , Loki corrects himself. _Not playing with his hair; hiding his artificial eye._

How could he have missed that? How can he have let his brother keep so many things hidden from him?

Taking the glass from Thor’s hands, Loki reaches out to place it on the counter, careful to stay close by. Tries to decide on the best angle of attack. Remember that this is Thor that he’s dealing with, even if it’s a Thor worn ragged by care. “Is your eye bothering you?”

Thor gulps and shakes his head.

Such a terrible liar. “How did you lose it?”

Maybe for anyone else the direct route would be a mistake. With Thor, it’s a different matter. Directly confronted, the harmful need for deflection currently tormenting his brother seems to shatter. Thor wraps his arms around himself and the whole dreadful story comes gushing forth.

Loki listens, horrified. For it turns out that, apparently, there’s a crazy maiming sister out there. Asgard, Loki had known about. More or less. But that Thor had lost his eye at the same time?

Carefully he cups Thor’s face, smoothing back his hair with careful fingers, and then presses a kiss to his brow. “Thank you for telling me.”

#

They sleep late the next day. Loki wakes slowly, his arms still holding Thor close. He listens to the rise and fall of Thor’s breath, and honestly can’t tell. “Are you awake?”

For a moment there’s silence. Then Thor moves, just a little, but enough to be interpreted as a nod.

“All this throwing up.” Loki’s not quite sure how to put it. Certainly Thor’s eating too much, drinking to excess, but… “Is it stress?” Stress isn’t quite the right word, but Loki can’t find a way to ask ‘is it just that everything’s too much?’ especially when it’s clear that the answer is yes.

There’s a shrug. Loki will take that as confirmation. He’s surprised with himself for being surprised. So much for being observant.

Carefully he moves his hand to Thor’s shoulder; gently rubs circles against Thor’s back. Wonders if he’s meant to ask why Thor hadn’t said anything earlier or if he should tell convincing lies about everything working out alright.

In the end, he looks for a distraction. “You never told me about the flowers.” They have a nice scent; comforting.

He almost thinks that Thor’s going to continue with his silent, I’m-not-really-here thing. Yet Thor mumbles, so softly that Loki almost misses it, “It’s nightbalm.”

“Nightbalm?” Loki smiles. It’s a charming name for a rather plain plant. The only thing of interest about the flower is that haunting scent. “Whatever made you choose it?” There must have been better plants in whatever market Thor frequented. Once, Loki would have assumed it a gift from a witless admirer, but those have, for the usual shallow reasons, dried up.

There’s a longer pause this time. Then Thor rolls over onto his back and gives Loki a strange look. “I thought you’d-” Another of those pauses that fall so frequently Loki’s almost become used to them. “Mother used to use these to help ease our sleep. It’s from Vanaheim.”

“Oh.”

 _Oh_. Loki had _forgotten_.

While he flounders, speechless, Thor continues, “After that nightmare where you attacked- After you and Nebula- Well. I know that you’ve been having problems sleeping and I thought- You know.”

But Loki _doesn’t_ know. Because at the time Thor had been wandering around, buying foreign imports, he’d been planet hoping with the tesseract, utterly determined not to come back. How had Thor known there was a point to his purchase?

Thor’s hand cups the back of Loki’s neck. Ever so gently, he tugs Loki down, until they’re stretched out side-by-side, close enough to whisper secrets. “Even if you never come back,” Thor says ‘come’ not ‘came’, living eye so dark and knowing that Loki wants to hide it behind those cursed glasses again, “I want you to know that you always have a home here. With me. The best home I can make for you. Because you’re always welcome to me.”

Loki steals Thor’s trick; he cries.

#

Later – when they’ve had a moment to downplay the incident and Loki has had a quick nap so that he can pretend he was just overtired – _later_ , Loki heads off the ship and into town. He thinks a lot about what Thor had said. About what Thor has skirted around, as well. About building a home and having it be good.

Because it’s something they haven’t been doing. Not really.

Maybe it’s time to change that. Time to add something nice to their lives. The robe went down well. Sort of. In the grand scheme of things.

So when he sees the scented oils in the market place, Loki’s tempted. If nice and gentle is the key to recovery, then he should probably indulge them both more.

But at the last moment he stills his hands. Massage feels too personal; more so even than their cleaning rituals.

Instead he finds thick, soft blankets. He probably buys more than he should. When he takes them back to their cabin; removes the old linens from the bed and, yes, burns them; then covers the bunk with the fuzzy, giving fabric…

His hands soothe across it.

Definitely nothing like the mad titan’s prisons. Good.

Standing by the bed, Loki can see Thor’s badly hidden stash. Thor is never at his best when forced to secrecy. Loki takes his brother’s contraband from its hiding place under the bed; putting it away properly in the bedside cabinet. True, the snacking is a bad habit and one Thor needs to get on top of. But it’s also a coping mechanisms; one adopted when it’s clear that Thor’s currently right at the edge of his sanity. Maybe it’s time they stopped lying about these things.

#

Mission accomplished, Loki heads back out, this time to meet with his brother. That morning they had hugged and talked (some of) it out. This afternoon they have a more conventional pastime: sparring. And, if Thor’s not yet the unstoppable force he’d once been, then at least now Loki can expect to be faced with a brother able to hold his own.

Loki would rage at their progress, which is slow and anything but steady. Yet, thinking on the fear he’s seen in Thor’s eyes – fear that he’ll hurt Loki; fear that he’ll hurt anyone – suddenly brings to mind a different time. A distant time. Possibly one that would never have come to him without that daft, nursery-room plant.

They’d been young. Very young. Thor only recently come into his powers. Lightening and thunder seemed to form without rhyme nor reason and Thor, Loki’s beloved older brother, had locked himself up. Loki doesn’t remember himself crying, but he must have done, for he can still remember the warmth of his mother’s arms as she soothed him. As she told him that, one day, Thor would outgrow this fear; that his control would solidify, all the finer for this concern he now felt. That, one day soon, if only Loki will be patient, Loki’s brother would return, incredible.

Loki is recalled from his thoughts by the gymnasium door opening. Thor, brightly clad in his new robe, enters and-

“You’ve cut your hair.” Loki can’t control the words; nor his shock. True, the difference isn’t so great. Only a few inches. Just enough to tidy it up. But the _effect_ …

Thor smiles, the gesture slight and more than a little self-conscious. “I left the beard.” He runs his fingers down the braiding at his chin as though reassuring himself that it truly remained. “I know how much you like it.”

For a moment Loki feels transparent; too easily seen. Too vulnerable by being known. He knows he should leave. He doesn’t. Instead Loki feels his fear, then he lets it go. Tries to match his brother’s smile. “Aye,” he says, “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> These tales keep getting longer. I need to remember the ‘short’ bit of short story…


End file.
